Outside, straw mats had been spread over the wet ground and on them pots of steaming food waited. While dark clouds piled up and threatened more rain, Florence and Sam sat on the mats and ate savory vegetables from clay bowls, and the men encircled them on the ground with their bowls. The women in an outer circle stood watching. They wore only aprons and necklaces and held their naked children by their hands and the babies on their hips, and Katchiba walked among them, patting the children’s heads.
“He’s a magnificent politician,” Sam said.
“And a loving father,” Florence added. “I wonder how many belong to him.”
Outside of a hut at the edge of the settlement, the men helped their drovers remove the animals’ burdens and give them food. Achmed and Saat were setting up their kitchen to serve their men, and inside the hut, women spread woven covers on a straw bed that was surrounded by their luggage.
As darkness fell and rain spattered on the grass roof, Florence said, “The chief is letting the rain fall now that we’re inside. Do you suppose he can also stop it?”
“I think the chief is showing off. I hope his word is good and his hospitality doesn’t carry too high a price.”
In the morning the sun shone and steam rose from the sun warmed earth. At their doorway, Florence found a basket of fresh fruit and saw Achmed approaching with a pot of coffee. He said the Obbos had brought a big sack of coffee beans that he’d begun roasting and a vessel full of flour already finely ground. He had bread baking, which he would serve them on a bench under an umbrella tree.
While Sam talked with Rahan about possible routes, Florence took care of housekeeping, sorting through their belongings so Osman and Saat could do laundry. Later when the sun had dried the clothes, she’d do some mending, but for a while she could sit and read one of the books she had unpacked. She had just begun reading from a book by a man named Hazlitt when a shadow fell across her page. She looked up into the round, shiny faces of three little girls and beyond them, a woman carrying a covered basket. With a wide smile, she knelt on the ground in a graceful movement, laid out the cloth, and emptied her basket.
Florence watched her place rows of leaves and bark on the cloth, then four small clay pots, and a bowl with a wooden pestle. She beamed with satisfaction when she saw that she had Florence’s rapt attention. Then she pantomimed pains in her head and stomach, passed a hand over a fevered brow and shook with chills.
Florence understood, nodded and said, “Yes, yes, aywah.”
The woman nodded, too, and selected an herb to show how to prepare and apply it. Florence held up a hand to stop while she hurried inside to her satchel and returned with notebook and pencil. They exchanged a few words of Arabic along with many gestures.
Florence took notes while the woman mixed leaves and bark, pulverizing them with a smooth stone, even chewing some tough pieces to make a paste. She attached a colored straw to each pot and then added drawings of a water jug or a fire, and made their meanings clear by her gestures. Then she pantomimed ailments for which they should be used. When the woman was finished, Florence attached her own notes to each and then went inside and brought out red rubber balls for the girls and a length of merikani and a bracelet for the woman.
When Sam returned, Florence told him then about her visitors and their generosity.
“This is the only tribe so far whose main characteristic is not avarice,” Sam said and added that he was also pleased by his talk with Katchiba and the guides.
“Two men claimed to have been to the lake. Others spoke about rivers and terrain. I didn’t learn much about how much, when, or for how long we might expect rain. But two guides and a few hunters and bearers will go out with me. If nothing else, I may get in some good shooting.”
He went then to talk to Richarn and came back with the bad news that several men were ill. He took along the last of the paregoric for the men, and he also found Mouse, their small roan, rolling on the ground with colic.
The next morning, he was discouraged to learn the paregoric had not done much for the men and Mouse was even sicker. In fact, Sam, himself, didn’t feel in the best of health and chose to put off the scouting trip a day or so.
When Sam was still miserable with cramps and fever in the morning, Florence went to Chief Katchiba to ask the help of the woman who had brought herbs. He sent the woman and a medicine man, who administered bitter draughts to Sam and filled the hut with fumes and smoke. Later the medicine man brought helpers, who stood outside the tent drumming and chanting.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I know this is superstition, but it does no harm. I cannot send them away.”
“I don’t mind, Florence. Just stay away from this illness, leave me battle this demon, with or without the music.”
While Sam lay sick in bed, Florence spent time with Achmed and Osman, reviewing lessons in cleaning kitchen equipment and preventing food spoilage and contamination. She had read about lessons Florence Nightingale learned in the Crimean War, and now she saw to it that Achmed diligently went through their store of food, sniffing for spoilage and washing the outsides of sealed tins of milk and biscuits.
As soon as Sam was well enough to be up, he went to see if the crew was also back in health and returned with good news: there were no more new cases. However, the bad news was that Mouse had died, and it distressed Sam that he had not been there to put her out of her misery.
When word of Sam’s improving health reached Katchiba, the chief came to visit and brought a bag of tobacco. After one pipeful, Sam claimed its effect was amazingly pleasant and credited their method of curing it or some quality in the soil. Later he examined the tobacco and detecting an aromatic additive hoped he would find out more about it.
Florence was relieved to see him well and secretly pleased with her own strength and health. She felt this respite had been good for her. She enjoyed the domestic interlude, working with Achmed and learning how to prepare the vegetables that grew here in abundance. It also pleased her to observe Sam “at home,” busy and content with various occupations. One of his projects was augmenting their dwindling supply of French prophylactics with sheaths he fashioned from animal entrails. His strong, calloused hands cut the delicate membranes and sewed them with fine silk thread.
The Obbo men who had butchered fawns or kids were willing to save the entrails for him, but they wanted to know what use there was for the peculiar things he made. Florence said she wanted to know what he told them.
“I said I made protective cases for instruments.”
“Are you worrying yours will rust?”
“Frequent use and reasonable care are sufficient.”
“You are conscientious.”
“I want to make these perfectly smooth, for your sake.” She knew he, too, would rather not use them at all.
On the scouting trip with Richarn and two Obbo guides, Sam aimed to locate the Assua River and, if possible, determine when they might cross it. He took bearers, too, and promised Katchiba he’d try to bring back some elephant tusks for him. The chief promised Sam that three strong men would watch over Florence. In only ten days, Sam returned with an elephant hide and two medium sized tusks for the chief, as well as a rhino’s hide and horn, which so delighted Katchiba he danced and sang. Scouts had given Florence the news of Sam’s nearing the village and she prepared a pumpkin shell filled with a gallon of native beer.
“After a thirty-mile trek in the sun, this drink is as refreshing as a draught of Allsopp’s.”
When Florence told him how well-attended she had been in his absence, Katchiba overheard her and added that she had been guarded by the best, his own sons.
“My sons. Strong and handsome just like me.”
“I acquired a sense of the territory,” Sam told Florence when they were alone, “but the trip wasn’t a great success.”
“When you rode in, I thought I saw Filfil favoring a foot.”
“That was a piece of bad business. She twisted a leg while we were tracking the el
ephant. I think she’ll be all right. But we never did reach the Assua – only a river they call the Attiba. I don’t know if they are parallel.”
“They said they could take you to the Assua.”
“I called a halt so we could get Filfil back here and tend her leg. We need to get on with our journey.”
Katchiba provided a farewell feast of lambs roasted in a pit and, in gratitude to Sam for the tusks and rhino horn, offered a gift of two pairs of goats and eight oxen, which were sturdy beasts and less prone to disease than other animals. Sam left the remaining camels for Katchiba, who was fascinated by the strange beasts.
When they rode out, accompanying them were two Obbo guides and twenty drivers and bearers as well as the donkeys and oxen carrying heavy loads. Filfil was strong again and ready to carry Florence. Sam rode Tetel and Achmed and Osman rode on donkeys and kept track of the goats, and bringing up the rear, Richarn and Saat sat astride donkeys and kept their arms ready to fire warning shots and scare off predators.
They were well prepared for the final leg of their search for the source of the Nile.
Chapter 23
They grew accustomed to the company of elegant zebras that shared the savannah with shaggy wildebeests in harmony, and the herds seemed to accept their presence, as well. Now and again, evidently sensing a threat, the animals nudged their young into the herd’s midst and set off at a trot. Sam and Florence had yet to see a straggler and hoped never to see one brought down by a stealthy predator.
At night, sentries maintained blazing fires, and Sam slept with a firearm within reach, as did Richarn and Saat. Florence kept her Fletcher under her cot and trusted Sam’s vigilance. They heard snarls and snorts of prowling beasts at night, and in the morning might see a hyena gnawing the lions’ leftovers or a few vultures circling in the sky waiting for their turn to pick the carrion. Once Sam halted the caravan near a patch of trampled grass so they could watch three lions devour the carcass of an antelope.
They kept their weapons ready but were not afraid.
Florence always felt confident of Sam’s ability to protect her. Responsibility for his caravan was second nature to Sam, and though he enjoyed few things more than a hunt, he now hunted only for food, taking care not to put the caravan at risk.
“Most of the animals are so beautiful that I can’t think of them or ourselves as prey,” said Florence as two cheetahs streaked across the plain.
“It’s tempting to dismiss danger while we admire their beauty, but power is part of it. A cheetah is probably a greater danger than a rhino since he lacks their speed. But an animal with a beautiful coat is as dangerous as a rhino or a warthog. They all depend on instinct, and our instincts and intelligence should remind us that we cannot lie down with lions. This is not a peaceable kingdom.”
“Nevertheless, Africa seems like an Eden.”
“A fine thought, but keep your rifle ready.”
* * *
As they rode across the golden plains, Sam was aware that he often felt a deep contentment. Umbrella trees cast lacy shadows and distant hills floated in a blue-gray mist; these were scenes he’d dreamed of seeing. And beside him was a companion he had not imagined he’d ever have. Often they rode silently for hours, their eyes meeting when a bird of particularly brilliant plumage took flight or an impala stood on hind legs to feed on a tree’s top leaves. Even a complaint or a quarrel among the bearers scarcely altered his mood.
It was taking twice as long to reach Attiba as he had anticipated, and once there, he found the waters higher, too. He rode along the bank to find a shallow place they could ford, and then as they made the crossing Filfil’s foot caught in a hole.
Sam heard her leg snap and felt for the break while the horse thrashed about, sinking deeper into mud and water. Sam struggled to remove her saddle and then took her halter in a desperate hope she could reach the shore. But she fell sideways, drowning even as he managed to put his pistol to her head. There was no use in trying to haul the carcass from the water, and reluctantly, they reassembled the caravan and went on. Sam wanted Florence to ride Tetel, but she would not.
“He’s grieving over Filfil, too, Sam, and suffering from fly bites. I won’t make him carry me!”
They all walked until the afternoon was nearly gone. When they made camp, Sam and Richarn treated infections Tetel and the donkeys had developed. The other animals stood still and patiently allowed men to clean their wounds and apply poultices. All of his life, Sam had cared for dogs and horses, and he felt few things more pitiable than an animal in pain.
“They don’t understand pain and suffering,” he said later as he and Florence lay in the dark.
“Nor do they anticipate death,” she whispered, “but they do understand when you try to help them.”
Sam was grateful for the hardiness of the oxen and took advantage of it by having the men redistribute the cargo, giving the donkeys a respite. At Sam’s insistence, Florence rode an ox now, but when straddling its wide back grew uncomfortable, she’d slide off and walk for a mile or so. After trekking eighteen hours a day across the dry plains, they were rewarded by the sight of a river gorge.
As they stood on a ridge, looking down on a crystal stream in a sandy basin, Sam said he believed it to be the Assua. He had barely spoken when their Obbo guides laid down their burdens. They faced Sam and bowed with hands crossed on their breasts, then without a word, took off running for home. Florence looked on, disappointed and angry.
“So much for the good chief’s promises.”
“He promised only that they’d take us to the Assua. So, this must be it. Its course is northeast, which must take it to the White Nile. We will find the Shooas and other guides – and we will reach the lake. But now we’ll rest.”
Sam located a depression where floodwaters remained, and the drivers took the animals there before setting up camp on high ground. Then with Richarn and two bearers, Sam went hunting for a good meal, and before long they cornered an antelope alone in a thicket. Sam handed his rifle to a bearer and, making his way downwind of the animal, crept close, pounced, and slit its throat with his knife. The men gutted it there and carried the hide and meat back to camp where Achmed and Osman cooked up a feast.
Hoping Florence wouldn’t see him in his bloody clothes, Sam slipped away to the river. He yanked off his boots and waded in, letting the water wash away the blood. He pulled off his clothes and was weighing them down with rocks in shallow water when he looked up and saw Florence watching from the bank. Before he waved to her, he glanced around to see if the water still ran red with blood, and he heard her laugh. She’d not been fooled, and he shouted to her.
“But still, we’ve fired no shots in this wilderness.”
“The food will be very welcome to us all,” she replied. I will get you some dry clothes and come down there.”
Fresh from bathing, Sam and Florence lay on the rug in front of their tent and watched the sun turn the clouds purple and pink and the sky fade to pale green. Lowering their eyes, they saw five young natives near the smoking campfires. Achmed must have seen them approach and was welcoming them with warm bread; he was talking to them as he basted the antelope carcass on the spit.
Sam was pleased and invited them to share their meal.
The next morning Sam and Florence waited for their return, bur instead, saw a dozen women walked single-file down the path the men had taken back. They carried baskets of flour, butter, sesame paste, honey, and a few toted jugs. They all were smiling but said nothing as they laid all of the provisions near the cook tent and were gone before Florence could offer the usual gifts.
“There is an unsaid message here,” Sam said. “They’ll come back when they’re ready. We’ll wait.”
Night fell quickly that evening as the sky and clouds turned gray, then black. Looking at the plain they’d crossed, they saw clouds churning as if driven by great force.
“Sam! It’s going to be a fierce storm. The clouds are black as dirt!”
“That’s smoke. The whole plain is on fire.”
Soon the copses blazed; large trees exploded in fiery bursts; flames crawled through high grass driving ahead of it wildebeests, zebras, gazelles. Smaller animals like bush pigs and foxes scurried through their camp. Flocks of birds passed overhead, their shrill cries and the beating wings sounding like panic. Close to where Florence and Sam stood, two elands swam across the river and scrambled up the sandy banks.
Florence asked if the fire could jump the river, and Sam cast a quick glance around at the tent, shrubs, and piles of dry cargo. He shouted for Richarn and Saat. Achmed and Osman were coming back from bathing in the river after their kitchen work, and they scurried up the bank to join the rest of the crew who were pointing and jabbering in alarm. Florence clutched Sam’s arm.
“Can it jump the river?” she asked again.
“If the wind comes up, anything can happen. Stay by the tent. Watch out for creatures you don’t want to sleep with.”
He bellowed for Saat to get the buckets and organize a line, and for an hour they worked to drench the canvas and dry grass with river water. The wind had gone down, and the fire was soon burning itself out.
Smoke and ashes smeared the sky, and slender tongues of flame flickered here and there in the bush. Sam set up a sentry rotation, twice the usual number, to patrol the camp all night and to keep the tents wet.
“Terrifying,” Florence said as they lay on their cots. “We wouldn’t escape as easily as the wild animals. Did you see how frightened the men were? As if they’d seen such fires before.”
In the night Sam woke Florence gently. She was drenched with sweat, and he said she had been crying out.
“The fires, again, Sam, the same old dreams. Blazing curtains, shots, screams.”
“Of course, the fright would arouse them. I’ll get you fresh water.”
“You look sweaty, too, Sam. Are you all right?”
“A little tense, I think. I wasn’t sleeping soundly.” He took the glass when she finished and drank the rest of the water. “Thirsty, too.”